


Were We Meant to Be?

by CorellianKenway



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed III - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed III, Connor Deserves Happiness, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Haytham Being An Asshole, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, LOTS of hayziio, More characters to be added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Connor, Post-Assassin's Creed III, Pre-Assassin's Creed III, Relationship(s), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Ziio also Deserves Happiness, all the Kenways deserve happiness :(, did I mention this is a soul mate fic?, maybe Assassin's Creed Rogue, soul mates, this was some multichapter fic I was working on a while ago ig
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorellianKenway/pseuds/CorellianKenway
Summary: "Once you meet your soulmate, you two will stay together forever, through life and even death. Kaniehtí:io you see, your connection with your soulmate is not that of magic nor a cursing, it is one of fate. It is the power of love."Ziio never truly understood what "love" meant.  Was a mystical force?  Was it fate?  All the questions were answered when one day, she met the sly, intelligent, and quick-witted Englishman himself, Haytham Kenway.





	1. A Legend and a Myth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaniehtí:io, 1743 - When Kaniehtí:io was a little girl, her mother, Oiá:ner, the Clan Mother of the Kanien’kehá:ka Native American tribe always told her stories. Whether it be folklore from the past, how the Kanien’kehá:ka hunted and traded with the other tribes, or even just quick moral lessons, she listened to every single word her mother said with utmost attention.

#### Kaniehtí:io; 1743, Kanatahséton Valley

When Kaniehtí:io was a little girl, her mother, Oiá:ner, the Clan Mother of the Kanien’kehá:ka Native American tribe always told her stories. Whether it be folklore from the past, how the Kanien’kehá:ka hunted and traded with the other tribes, or even just quick moral lessons, she listened to every single word her mother said with utmost attention. Young Kaniehtí:io especially loved when her mother spoke of spiritual tales and legends of the First Civilization Gods.

On one day particularly, Oiá:ner had a story to tell her daughter. She walked out of their shared longhouse and looked upon the village trying to find her spirited and tough-as-leather child. The Clan Mother knew that at this time Kaniehtí:io would be either playing with the other village children or climbing trees.

“Kaniehtí:io, would you come here please? I must speak with you,” the Clan Mother asked when she finally saw her daughter skip into the village entrance.

“Yes? What is it, Ista?” she responded cheerfully after walking to their longhouse.

Her mother tsked her and said in a happy tone, “Hmmm, lately you have been playing a lot under the sun of the Kanatahséton Valley. No wonder you are caked with dirt in your hair and grass on your clothes.”

Kaniehtí:io answered by attempting to brush off the grass and pluck out the dirt. The Clan Mother softly giggled. Remembering why she came to her in the first place, Kaniehtí:io asked, “What do you need from me again, Ista?”

Her mother said, “Ahh yes, I requested your presence because I wanted to tell you a story, but this one is special since you will be turning thirteen years old tomorrow.”

Kaniehtí:io gasped, “Oh yes! How could I have possibly forgotten?! Thank you for reminding me, Ista!”

“It is not a problem,” the Clan Mother said with a smile. “You will soon be a young woman, therefore I must tell you this legend.” Now Kaniehtí:io was especially excited since she absolutely adored the myths her mother spoke of the most.

“What is it about?”

“Patience, my beautiful snow, listen up,” Oiá:ner said. “Everyone in this world is meant for one another, but we do not know it. The word to describe this is ‘soulmate’. Everyone has a soulmate they do not know that is somewhere out in the world. Eventually, time will come for you to meet them either physically or spiritually and that is a very crucial moment. You will feel so much. Some people feel utter bliss while others feel that fate is against them. The thing is, you do not know who your soulmate will be, not until time and fate reveal them. Even the Gods of the First Civilization were connected in this way. The Goddesses and Gods met their husbands, wives, and lovers because they were soulmates.

Kaniehtí:io kindly interrupted, “But Ista, why are you telling me this now? Why not in the future, or when I was younger?”

“The reason I am telling you this now is because when you were younger you were so carefree and loved to run around and play with the other children, which you still do now, but you did not understand yet. And I am not telling you in the future because you will not care to listen either. Your age right now is a very special time in your life; you are old enough to interpret and listen to what I am telling you yet young enough to not ignore me and act rebellious.” Kaniehtí:io gravely nodded and apologized to her mother for interrupting.

“It is nothing to worry about, my child,” her mother reassured her and continued with the story, “Once you meet your soulmate, you two will stay together forever, through life and even death. If a person passes away, their soulmate will continue on with their life but will deeply remember their lost significant other. However, even when they go on living their life’s worth in this world, the deceased soulmate will become their guardian angel. They will look over their living loved one as a spirit. You see, Kaniehtí:io, this is what I mean when I say that you two will stay forever through life and death. Your connection with your soulmate is not magic nor is it a curse, it is one of fate. It is the power of love.

Kaniehtí:io had no words to say to her mother. She never knew such a force existed in the world. Love is a powerful yet beautiful thing, that she knew from the various stories her mother had told her. Usually what Kaniehtí:io associated with love was her adoration for running, playing, climbing trees, learning, and for her family and tribe. This was all very new for her and she struggled to believe what her mother told her, but she tried her hardest to hide it, not wishing to disappoint.

Oiá:ner interrupted her thoughts and said, “I understand that this myth I am telling you is very different from the other stories I have shared. My Ista told me this legend as well on the eve of my thirteenth birthday, thus I am telling it to you now, my beautiful snow.”

The girl nodded her head slowly whilst staring at the ground. Yes, the Clan Mother was correct, she never felt love in that way before, only with her family. Now Kaniehtí:io was curious of how it will feel.

“Ista, this is all very new to me. Thank you for sharing this legend with me, I will consider it when I am older,” Kaniehtí:io thanked.

Her mother answered, “Yes, yes you will.”


	2. Trust and Infiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham Kenway, 14 July 1754 - The mission was simple: commandeer the oncoming convoy, steal the redcoat outfits, drive the carts into Southgate Fort, free the slaves, then kill Silas Thatcher. Well, easier said than done, Haytham thought.

#### Haytham Kenway; 14 July 1754, Boston, Massachusetts

Haytham had been planning this mission for a while. Surprisingly he had _Thomas_ to thank for _giving_ him the idea in the first place. The mission was simple: commandeer the oncoming convoy, steal the redcoat outfits, drive the carts into Southgate Fort, free the slaves, then kill Silas Thatcher. _Well, easier said than done_ , Haytham thought. As of right now, Haytham and Charles were perched on a roof of a building while the others: William, Thomas, Ben, and John were on the ground floor. The Grandmaster had commanded the men on the ground to flip over a wooden cart to signal that the convoy was approaching and that it was time to strike.

While Haytham was waiting, he saw the convoy approaching. He was also able to witness that the second cart was filled with Mohawk slaves and that there were redcoats surrounding the entire perimeter of the escort. Though upon closer look, he saw that sitting at the front along with the chauffeur was a Mohawk woman. _Why does this one woman receive special treatment compared to the other slaves_ , Haytham wondered. What perplexed him even more was that she had a nasty looking bruise on the left side of her face. _If someone punched her, presumably a redcoat, then why does she ride at the front_ , he thought to himself. He tried not to get distracted by her and focused on his men’s signal.

Right as the convoy neared the wooden cart, the Templars flipped the heavy item. While the soldiers in red stood their place confused, Haytham motioned for Charles to jump. Both men landed right on top of two soldiers, killing the redcoats immediately. All hell broke loose. Dogs were barking, muskets and pistols were being shot, swords were swinging, and fists were flying. While Haytham was defending himself, he managed to catch the Mohawk woman’s eye. They stared at each other.

He didn’t know which words to use in order to describe the feeling. It felt quite _magical_. The woman had very calming chocolate brown eyes. Haytham usually noticed these close details, considering he was the Templar Grandmaster and needed to know every single fact and particularity about the people he was about to deal with. What really caught the Englishman off guard was the fact that he usually never paid attention to women. The work of a Templar required most of his time. Even when he was in a brothel trying to look for Thomas, he never truly paid attention to those women. This woman, though, had done _something_ right in order to catch Haytham’s gaze. 

His breathing calmed a bit, even in the intense atmosphere.

Haytham started to feel a little bit awkward when all of a sudden, the Mohawk woman yelled out, “Watch out!”

He could feel the pain before it happened. One sly redcoat sucker punched him across the jaw while the two were sharing a silent staredown. Angered, Haytham snarled and whipped out his cutlass to stabbed the soldier. Looking around, he saw his men with cuts and bruises, and a whole unit of dead men in red. Haytham gave his Templars a nod, and each man then dragged a soldier off into an alley to change.

~

Moments later, all the men gathered outside.

Haytham then began to explain the rest of the plan, “Charles, you and William serve as vanguard. Let no man reach us.”

“Wot ‘bout me?” Thomas asked.

Haytham responded without hesitation, “You and John will follow from a distance and keep watch over us. I’ll signal you when I have need of your services.”

Thomas nodded, and the men then proceeded to their positions. Haytham climbed into the driver’s seat of the convoy. He attempted to make it as least awkward as possible, but ended up brushing the woman’s arm slightly. He gave her a quick glance, only to see that she was completely faced away from him.

Haytham cleared his throat, “We’re here to help you - along with those held inside Southgate Fort.”

“Free me.”

He felt a weird fluttering in his stomach, hearing this woman speak. _I didn’t expect her voice to sound this calming_ , he thought. Haytham shamed himself, clearing his mind of such useless thoughts.

He replied softly, trying to convince her, “Not until we’re inside the gate. I can’t chance an inspection at the gate going wrong. I’ll see you safe. You have my word.”

She didn’t answer. Rather, she turned her head away and sighed, staring off into the distance. Haytham really didn’t want to lose her- nor her people’s- trust. He really needed to be able to persuade her to believe in him. Haytham spurred the two horses, and the cart began to move.

As the convoy moved along, he tried to at least get some information from the mysterious lady, “Do you know anything of Silas’ operation? How many men we might expect? The nature of their defenses?”

No words came past her lips. _Stubborn_ , Haytham thought, _yet cautious_.

“You must be rather important to him if you were given your own escort…”

William broke Haytham’s “conversation” with her, “Sir, we’ve enemies ahead. Shall I engage them?”

Haytham answered the Scotsman, all while his eyes were still on the enigma of a woman, “No. Let Jonathan and Thomas take care of it.”

“As you wish.”

On his left, he heard Thomas chant, “I’m gonna enjoy this!” while mowing down an oblivious redcoat.

Haytham sighed, “I wish you’d trust us… Though I suppose it’s only natural for you to be wary. So be it.”

She still didn’t budge nor utter a sound. He truly thought that she would at least acknowledge or say something, but apparently, she didn’t.

~

Once the convoy reached the entrance of Southgate Fort, a soldier stopped them.

“Halt,” he said, “State your business.”

“Delivery for Silas,” Haytham said cooly.

“Go on then,” the Redcoat said, bored.

As the got past the main gate, Haytham began to free the woman of her binds.

He talked whilst cutting the ropes, “See. I’m freeing you, just as I said I would. Now if you’ll allow me to explain-”

Right as the last string was sliced, she ran off and into the distance. Haytham was surprised by her speed and agility.

Before his men could say or do anything foolish, he said, “Let her go.”

“But she’ll give us away!” Thomas piped up.

“No she won’t.”

“What’s the plan now?” John asked.

Haytham replied, “Free the captives and avoid detection.”

Ben then further inquired with a look of pure disgust on his face, “What of Silas?”

“He dies.”


	3. Pursuit of the Mystery Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham Kenway, 15 November 1754 - “Hello Charles. Any luck finding our mystery woman?”
> 
> After the rescue mission on the Mohawk captives, Haytham and his men had been waiting for months for any contact from the tribe. So far there had been none.
> 
> Charles answered the Grandmaster without hesitation, “Word is she’s been stirring up trouble just outside the city in a town called Lexington.”
> 
> He responded with enthusiasm, “Well then, that’s where we’ll begin our search! I’ll meet you there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so at one point in this chapter, Ziio disses on the English folk. Please keep in mind that I MEAN NO OFFENSE TO GREAT BRITAIN AND HER PEOPLE! I just want to make this clear so no one takes it the wrong way :( I, myself have been to London, and it's a beautiful place with beautiful people :D So please do not feel bad once you reach the part in the chapter (and also, this was back in the 18th century). With that aside, please enjoy this new chapter! I spent a lot of time on it! ^_^

#### Later That Day...

Haytham sat calmly and quietly on the stone barricades of Southgate Fort. He folded his legs up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them. Haytham never really had any time for this type of rest, thus he relished the times that he did get to relax and made the most of them. Then there _she_ was. It was the mysterious woman again! She had returned! Haytham figured that after she had booked it once he cut her binds, she wouldn’t have returned. He thought wrong. The lady was here and helped escort her fellow Mohawk people out of the fort. 

Then it happened again. They locked eyes. _Again._ This time, Haytham felt something warm crawl up his cheeks. _What was this goddamn feeling,_ Haytham cursed in his mind. Instead of giving him a blank gaze like she did before, a soft smirk was on her face. Haytham gave her a warm smile in return, his eyes calming. The Mohawk woman looked down, then continued to lead her people out. 

Charles broke the calming silence, “What happens now?” 

He answered, “We wait. Though not for very long, I suspect…” 

  


#### Kaniehtí:io; 15 July 1754, Kanatahséton Valley

Yesterday had been a very interesting day for Kaniehtí:io. Well… “interesting” would be an understatement. Daunting, riveting, exciting, nerve wracking, _fun_ , and maybe even… awkward? For one, she had never expected to have the British convoy attacked and controlled by a group of men lead by one _fascinating_ Englishman. The long flowing navy blue overcoat, laced with golden embroidery, the blood-red undercoat, the crisp white cravats, and the funny-looking tricorn. He looked like he came straight from London! _Well, maybe he did,_ Kaniehtí:io wondered for a moment. 

She rethought her actions from yesterday, though. _Maybe she was being a bit too harsh._ No, she shook her head. Those people were NEVER supposed to be trusted. He was an _Englishman_ for crying out loud! Those folks of the King’s Crown were only brewing up trouble with the French, waging war just because of pointless reasons. They had no right to interfere with another country’s business! _Gosh, how Kaniehtí:io hated political feuds, though she knew that they could lead to bigger problems._ No matter how captivating this Brit was, he should be avoided AT ALL COSTS, Kaniehtí:io told herself. 

“What seems to be bothering you, child?” a soft voice from behind her spoke. 

Kaniehtí:io turned her head around, and there stood her mother. She gave a small shake of her head and a smile. Kaniehtí:io was currently in the family longhouse cleaning her wounds after the other day’s “skirmish.” 

“After all these years, yet you still refer to me as ‘child.’” she said with a scoff, “Nothing is bothering me, Ista.” 

Oiá:ner didn’t look nor seem convinced, “I call you ‘child’ because you are still one in my eyes, though you have matured much over time, my dear. And you know that I can see through you. Especially after those ruffian English took you and some of the other tribespeople captive. So tell me again, what’s on your mind?” 

Kaniehtí:io wasn’t surprised. She knew that her mother always saw through her, no matter what. She decided to just spill it. 

“Ista, remember how I told you that someone had freed me yesterday?” Kaniehtí:io asked. 

The Clan Mother nodded. 

“Well… the perso- the MAN that saved me… was an Englishman,” she continued, cringing a little as she awaited her mother’s reaction. 

For once she was surprised. Oiá:ner’s face held a blank expression. Kaniehtí:io had at least expected to see the old woman have furrowed brows and a straight pair of lips. Instead, she was met with a deadpan look. 

Oiá:ner sighed, “I see. I guess there are _some_ exceptions to the average English folk, nevertheless a MAN. Whatever you do, stay away from him, Kaniehtí:io.” 

“Yes, yes, Ista, I know. I’ve been telling myself that for the past hour.” 

Kaniehtí:io’s mother gave her a quick nod and then left the longhouse. The children of Kanatahséton Valley could be heard giggling and running about outside. The birds were chirping, and Mother Nature herself was quite lively today. _Maybe she could go out for a hunt,_ Kaniehtí:io reasoned, _besides, the children complained of the hunger in their bellies and she did miss the delicious taste of venison and rabbit stew._ She knew that hunting and freerunning on the forest’s trees would assist in easing her mind about the man from the day before. What was it about those grey eyes, confident voice, and tall stature captivated her so much? He was most likely like any other Brit. Selfish, greedy, and loyal to the Crown. Kaniehtí:io finished tending to her wounds then grabbed her knife, bow, arrows, and quiver. After adjusting her gear, she exited the longhouse. 

  


#### Haytham Kenway; 15 November 1754, Green Dragon Tavern

“Hello Charles. Any luck finding our mystery woman?” 

After the rescue mission on the Mohawk captives, Haytham and his men had been waiting for months for any contact from the tribe. So far there had been none. 

Charles answered the Grandmaster without hesitation, “Word is she’s been stirring up trouble just outside the city in a town called Lexington.” 

Though Lee was one of, if not the most helpful man in the band of Templars, Haytham hadn’t expected him to provide this information. 

He responded with enthusiasm, “Well then, that’s where we’ll begin our search! I’ll meet you there."

~

Both men had arrived at the frontier. 

“Have you found her?” Haytham asked his right-hand man. 

“She’s made camp not too far from here.” 

“Excellent. Well the sooner we’re done, the sooner we can get out of this cold.” 

Charles looked at the horses, "We’ll move faster on horseback.” 

As the men rode to the camp, Haytham noticed some blood marks in the snow and hares scurrying up the hill. He assumed that some animal must have been killed or hunted. 

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, sir,” Charles said. 

Haytham responded with an, “Oh?” 

“Braddock is insisting that I return to service under him. I’ve tried to beg off, to no avail.” 

_Edward the goddamn dog,_ Haytham hissed in his mind. That man literally shows no sympathy, empathy, nor remorse to those around him. 

Haytham answered, “No doubt he’s still angry about losing Pitcairn- to say nothing of the shaming we gave him. Do as he asks. In the meantime, I’ll work on having you released.” 

Charles gave a nod of understanding, yet spoke as if he were guilty of something, “I am sorry for the trouble.” 

“Not your fault.”

~

Both men arrived at the camp, only to find that it was ruined and put out. 

“We’re too late,” Lee said. 

Haytham took a closer look, “The fire’s only just been snuffed. The snow recently disturbed. She’s close.” 

Just as he finished his observation, Haytham turned around as he heard a howl from a nearby pack of wolves. Both men’s horses fled in fear of the immediate predators. 

“Bollocks!” Charles cursed. 

Haytham began to follow the fresh tracks leading up the snowy hill. He kept near the snow, in case any wolves lurked about. _Speak of the devil._ A lone wolf scampered up the mound, though, it paid no attention to Haytham. 

Haytham spoke up, “These tracks are fresh, they must be her’s. Seems she took to higher ground. Out of the snow and into the trees.” 

And right as Haytham finished his sentence, there she stood, well… crouched, currently making another camp. 

Haytham held up his hand, stopping Lee, “Wait here.” 

He slowly approached the mystery woman, staying low as not to alert her nor the nearby wolves. As he made his way to her, he looked to his right and saw three wolves closing in on her. 

_**BAM!** _

One of the wolves let out a loud whine and whimper. She quickly faced both men with a look of surprise on her face. With grace, she leaped and ran away. Haytham was also stunned and looked at Lee, who was poised with a flintlock in his right hand that had smoke leaking from the barrel. 

Haytham yelled to the woman, “Ah dammit! Wait! Come back!” 

He suggested to Charles, “Best you return to Braddock, Charles, before he grows suspicious. I can handle things from here.” 

The other man tried to say otherwise, “But, sir-” 

“But nothing, go!” 

Charles unwillingly left as Haytham continued his hot pursuit of the enigmatic lady. Already he was panting like a dog, and he wasn’t even that old yet! He figured that it was the snow dragging his feet down that made the chase even worse than it should have been. 

He attempted to call out to her, “Stop running! I only wish to talk! I am not your enemy!” Every callout made it harder for Haytham to sprint. 

“Please just hear me out! Gods, woman! Only let me speak! Enough with these games.” _Where the hell was she?!_

“It is imperative that we speak! A moment of your time is all I ask of! You try my patience, woman!!!” 

_Finally._ Haytham knew for a fact now that she was near. Another one of her camps had just been snuffed and the smoke was floating in the air. Haytham leaned against a tree to rest. He heard one soft growl at first. Then two. Then three. Then four. He looked around him and saw… _that he was surrounded by goddamn wolves._ The sly bastards had managed to track him down whilst he was chasing after the woman. He readied his blades, as he knew how these vicious beasts attacked. One wolf jumped at his left, only to be parried and then quickly stabbed in the neck. While Haytham was dealing with the first wolf, another jumped at his side while he was pulling his hidden blade out of its body. 

“Agh!” the man grunted. The wolf was snarling with spit dripping from its mouth as it tried to gnash at him. It had pinned him on the ground. Haytham used his forearms and hands to keep the predator away from him. He then kicked the animal off of him and shot it with his flintlock. He quickly placed the gun in its holster and then blocked the next wolf’s attack, killing it with his hidden blade. The last wolf made its final jump at Haytham, only to have him duck out of the way and slice its stomach. Whimpering, the feral creature ran the opposite direction. 

The rush of adrenaline had kept him alive. In London, there were no wolves, except in the wilderness which he never ventured forth because of Reginald’s words and scolding. The attack had reminded him when he and his men had freed the Mohawk. Both moments gave Haytham a sense of peril, that when he was noticed he would either be dead or hurt. Clearing such feelings from his mind, Haytham continued his quest of finding the mystery woman. 

After a couple minutes of sprinting in the snow, Haytham looked up to the trees, only to find the infamous lady herself jumping with practiced agility and light-footed speed. 

“STOP!” Haytham called out. 

Once he tracked her down, she finally jumped down from the trees. He felt like he was going to pass out on the spot. 

“Are you touched in the head?!” she exclaimed out loud. 

_Wow._ Haytham had only heard her yell once, but he never knew how scary she sounded when she actually directed her anger at him. This lady did indeed do a fabulous job at constantly surprising and perplexing him… 

Haytham held up his hands in defeat, “Me. Haytham. I come in peace.” 

She imitated his moves and spoke in chopped up English, “Why. Are. You. Speaking. So. Slow?” 

Again, Haytham felt that _same warm feeling_ crawling up his cheeks. He dropped his arms in embarrassment, “Oh, sorry.” 

“What do you want?” the woman asked defensively. 

Haytham answered her, “Well, your name for one.” 

“I am Kaniehtí:io.” 

He smiled, a little too friendly, “Pleased to meet you, Godz-zio?...” _He completely butchered her name…_

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed, “Just call me Ziio.” 

“Diio?” 

_“Ziio.”_

“Ziio.” 

The awkward tension returned once again, just like the moment they locked eyes on the convoy. 

She broke the silence with a demanding tone, “Now tell me why it is you’re here.” 

Haytham pulled the aqua amulet from his coat, showing it to her. Ziio furrowed her brows and snatched the gem from his hand. 

“Where did you get this?” she questioned. 

“From an old friend,” Haytham said. 

She walked as she spoke, “I’ve only seen such markings in one other place.” 

“Where?” he pried. 

Now he noticed that she was at a loss for words. 

“It is forbidden for me to speak of it.” 

Haytham was a bit angered at this statement, “I saved your people, does this mean nothing to you?” Ziio looked up at Haytham, and he once again held up his hands. 

He sighed, “Look, I am not the enemy.” 

Ziio looked at the amulet one more time. 

“Close to here is a hill. Meet me there, and we’ll see if you speak the truth.” She said it in an almost mocking- no, _condescending_ tone. She turned away from Haytham, then jogged to the hill. _This is going to be a long day,_ he thought.


	4. Tavern Brawls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziio, 15 November 1754 - “Every day, more and more of my people are lost to men like him,” she explained, with malice dripping in her voice.
> 
> Haytham made a suggestion, “Then I suggest we put an end to it. Together.”
> 
> Ziio was a bit unsure at the last part of his idea, but she decided that if it benefited her people, then she would work with him.
> 
> “What do you propose?” she inquired.
> 
> “That we kill Edward Braddock. But first, we have to find him.”

#### Ziio; 15 November 1754, Lexington, Massachusetts

The weather was beginning to get cold and the sun was setting; snow had begun to fall as well. Ziio pulled her furskin tighter around her shoulders as she trudged up the soft white hill. Once she reached the top, she looked down at the vest expense bellow her. Everywhere was covered in sheets of pure white snow. It was quite beautiful in her eyes, actually. Ziio had always had history with snow, well... her Kanien’kehá:ka name meant “Beautiful Snow” in the first place! Her mother taught her that snow, though alluring, was deadly. It killed slowly, putting its victims to sleep, then lowering their body temperatures until it became low… too low. Once they fell asleep, it seeped the life from their bodies. Because of the delicacy and horror of the almost seemingly magical snow, the tribe had taught Ziio how to survive in cold and harsh weathers. Always wear or bring extra furs and protection, wear proper snow shoes, have weapons ready. 

Looking downward, Ziio saw that several meters ahead on the ground level was a small town, which housed a pub called “The Wright Tavern.” Ziio knew that this joint was a common place for British soldiers to converse, drink, and share information. It was the perfect place for her plan! 

She pointed down and said, “That town hosts soldiers who seek to drive my people from these lands. They’re led by a man known as ‘The Bulldog.’” 

“Edward Braddock...” Haytham answered with a longing and slightly venomous tone. 

Ziio already felt uncomfortable standing next to Haytham, let alone having allied with him on this “mission.” She felt a surge of annoyance and meager anger through her body after hearing THAT name and knowing that this man next to her knows and possibly has been associated with The Bulldog. 

Defensively, she said, “You know him?” 

“He is no friend of mine,” Haytham said, looking at Ziio with a shared hatred for Braddock. This did help calm down Ziio’s nerves, if only for a little bit. _At least this man disliked him, too,_ she thought. 

“Every day, more and more of my people are lost to men like him,” she explained, with malice dripping in her voice. 

Haytham made a suggestion, “Then I suggest we put an end to it. _Together._ ” 

Ziio was a bit unsure at the last part of his idea, but she decided that if it benefited her people, then she would work with him. 

“What do you propose?” she inquired. 

“That we kill Edward Braddock. But first, we have to find him.” 

The snow was starting to pick up its speed. Ziio took a couple steps forward, close to the overhang of the hill. She glanced downward. Below, there was a conveniently placed haystack, covered in snow. Holding her arms out spread and closing her eyes, she leaped. The wind and snow rushed against her face. Ziio’s mother had told her about this move called the “Leap of Faith.” Though the other tribespeople, taught her how to hunt, the Clan Mother was the only person that taught her how to perform this useful little tactic. 

She landed with a _THUMP!_ into the haystack. When Ziio opened her eyes, there was darkness. _She always loved the adrenaline and excitement of a Leap of Faith._ Ziio hoisted herself out of the cart and jumped onto the ground. She then proceeded towards the tavern. Right as she took her first step, she heard the familiar thumping sound again. Turning around, she saw Haytham get out of the haystack, adjusting his hat. She almost wanted to laugh at how the tricorn never got lost. When he stood up, he gave her a smirk. Immediately the humor stopped and she bore a frown upon her face. _What did he want? Did he think that he can challenge her?_

“I don’t trust you,” Ziio said plainly. 

“I know,” he responded. 

This made her blood boil. He was way too laid back. But she didn’t show it. 

She tried to counter him, “Yet you remain.” 

“That I might prove you wrong.” 

_Prove her wrong? What did he mean by that?_ Though she was willing to work with him, she would stay by her word and NEVER trust him or ANY other Englishman, even if he helped the tribe. 

“It will not happen.” 

“So you say.” 

“So I know.” 

“Yet… I remain,” Haytham said. 

Ziio gave him a strong, spiteful glare. This man was seriously pushing her buttons right now, and she did not like it one bit. She knew that it was better to keep her anger at a minimum for now, because the two of them were about to enter the bar. 

Haytham spoke, “Wait here. A Mohawk woman is likely to raise suspicions - if not muskets.” 

Ziio scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes, “This is hardly the first time I’ve been amongst your people. I can handle myself.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle shove, entering the tavern. _Honestly,_ she thought, _why did he even care so much? The only contact they had had was at Southgate Fort and a couple minutes ago on top of the hill._ Ziio heard a soft “I hope so,” right as she entered the pub. What she also heard was the sound of voices dropping as the men glared right at her. A Mohawk woman in a tavern filled with men and English soldiers. What a sight. 

As she got herself fixated at the bar table, the conversation and voices resumed once more. She scanned the room, and spotted three cliques of Redcoats. One group was to her left, another behind her, and one across the room near the window. The doors of the tavern opened and Haytham stepped in. He decided to go to the bar table as well, and eavesdropped on the soldiers’ conversation. 

Ziio ordered a drink, then got up and sat at the table behind her. She could hear every word the Redcoats were saying. 

“Ugh I can’t stand being quartered there. The endless crashing of the waves. The sting of the salt in my eyes. And the goddamn gulls shrieking and shitting everywhere!” one soldier complained. 

Another one of his friends asked, “You’re sure that’s where we’re going?” 

“Aye. The Bulldog’s putting together another _‘expedition.’_ ” 

After listening to the men’s talk, Ziio walked over the bar table again, asking for another drink to not seem suspicious. She looked behind her across the room and saw Haytham leaning silently against the window between two men. To his right were another group of British soldiers. Over the loud tavern, she was only able to catch a few words about how the French were preparing to move onto British positions and that Braddock had already left for the advancement camp. Haytham left his place by the window and looked over to Ziio. He motioned for her to join him, as they finally got all the intelligence they needed. She stood up to walk to him. 

“Oi! Where you goin’, cully?!” a voice angrily called out, right as Haytham was about to place his hand on the handle. 

“Me?” he asked cluelessly. 

The voice, who belonged to one of the English soldiers, said, “No, the other cock robin.” 

Haytham cleared his throat, “Well, I _was_ leaving.” 

“Oh, and now?” the man taunted. 

“Well now… I’m going to feed you your teeth,” he said in an extremely dark and hate-filled voice. 

Ziio was shocked to say the least. She never knew Haytham had such sass in him! The least she could do now was to stay out of sight and lend him moral support. She had a slight feeling that he might _actually_ win this fight against six other soldiers. 

“And you were worried I was going to be the problem?” Ziio asked coyly with a smirk on her face as she left the vicinity and headed for shelter at the bar table once again. 

She watched as Haytham readied for the brawl. The first soldier charged at him, only to be sucker punched in the gut. The Brit clutched his abdomen, only to have his head grabbed by Haytham and slammed into his knee. Said soldier let out a loud yell and fell to the ground in fetal position. Haytham was panting and held up his arms to block an incoming attack. Another soldier threw another punch again, hoping to break the barrier. Haytham used this opportunity to counter and break the man’s arm. He let out an anguished scream as the breaking of bones could be heard. Haytham then threw him on the ground violently. 

Ziio watched in fascination at Haytham’s fighting techniques. They were so clean and flowed nicely together… almost like a type of dance. Each punch thrown by a soldier was elegantly blocked by Haytham, and each attack was either parried or countered. She saw that two men in red decided to fight Haytham at the same time. The first Redcoat attempted to kick him in the knee. Haytham took a step back, as the other soldier behind him was about to put him in a headlock. He quickly glanced around, and stepped away from the man. The two men were now in front of him, where he could perfectly see and sense their next moves. The soldier that tried to kick him made the same mistake as the first man, and charged towards him. Right as the soldier reached Haytham, he parried and shoved the man into one of the tables, breaking the wooden furniture. 

Splinters and drinks were in the air, as the soldier lied on the ground groaning in pain. Ziio continued to cheer him on on the sidelines. She took a sip from her tankard and watched him fight with such skill. Haytham stood his ground proudly. What he didn’t notice was when one of the men on the ground grabbed his leg, pulling him down sharply. Haytham grunted as he fell down. He kicked the man’s arm roughly and looked up. The soldier standing above him was about to stomp right onto his face! Haytham quickly rolled to the left and stood up. The soldier missed and stumbled. Haytham took his chance to push against him hard against a table. 

There were two Redcoats remaining, and both of them knew that the only way to beat Haytham was to attack at once together. They both ran at him with great speed. Using what Reginald taught him, he slipped one of the soldier’s feet and caused him to fall backwards. The other Redcoat was able to punch Haytham on the side of his face, leaving an already purple bruise. The bastard was also apparently holding a half broken rum bottle, which cut the side of Haytham’s face a little. With rage, Haytham punched the soldier hard across the face, and kicked him hard in the groin where it would _hurt._

The man let out an extremely loud yell and crumpled to the floor in agony. There was cheering and roaring in the background, as well as broken tables and groaning British soldiers. The Wright Tavern was a mess to say the least. Some spectators were helping the incapacitated men up, and Haytham took his seat next to Ziio. She looked at him and saw the blood dripping down the side of his face. Though she knew this man wasn’t to be trusted, she all of a sudden felt concern for him. The Clan Mother had taught Ziio that she had to be caring and kind, especially when one was injured. 

“You are hurt,” she said in a soft tone with a worried face. 

Haytham looked at her quickly and said, “Oh, it’s nothing.” She could swear that she saw his cheeks turn a little red. Ziio reached behind the counter and grabbed the bottle of beer. She pulled a white handkerchief out of her furskin coat, and brought it up to the lips of the bottle. After she poured some of the alcohol onto the swab, she pressed it against Haytham’s cheek. She was surprised when he gently jolted at her contact. 

“Here… this should stop the bleeding,” she said. 

Haytham looked at her with soft eyes, “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.” 

Ziio gave a nod, and then stood up. She looked at the door and spoke, “We should move on. Meet me at Braddock’s camp when you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha… so ok, this scene was difficult for me to write because I have such a hard time crafting action sequences. It’s so hard for me to try not to repeat words over again, thus, some aspects of the bar fight had to be changed from its canon form in Assassin’s Creed 3. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter as I have many more ideas to come soon! :D


	5. To Find Braddock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham Kenway, 15 November 1754 - Over the next few hours, the both of them had arrived at General Edward Braddock’s camp: Fort St-Mathieu. The wind was blowing very hard now, causing a blizzard. Haytham kept his stance, kneeling near some shrubbery next to Ziio, as he watched a supply cart head toward the fort.
> 
> “Use the snowstorm to mask your approach,” Ziio ordered. Haytham didn’t say anything. He continued to watch the convoy.
> 
> “Having second thoughts?” she asked a little louder, interrupting his flow of ideas.
> 
> “Hardly,” he answered her, “but I’ll have to approach this carefully.”
> 
> “Go on, then. I’ll keep watch from here.”

#### Haytham Kenway; 15 November 1754, Fort St-Mathieu

Over the next few hours, the both of them had arrived at General Edward Braddock’s camp: Fort St-Mathieu. The wind was blowing very hard now, causing a blizzard. Haytham kept his stance, kneeling near some shrubbery next to Ziio, as he watched a supply cart head toward the fort. 

“Use the snowstorm to mask your approach,” Ziio ordered. Haytham didn’t say anything. He continued to watch the convoy. 

“Having second thoughts?” she asked a little louder, interrupting his flow of ideas. 

“Hardly,” he answered her, “but I’ll have to approach this carefully.” 

“Go on, then. I’ll keep watch from here.” 

Haytham gave her a nod, then proceeded to run over to another tall grass area so he could get a better view of the convoy. _He could hide in that cart,_ Haytham thought to himself. As the cart neared, the storm picked up its pace. The harsh winds blew much of the snow in front of the driver, obscuring his sight. Haytham used this to his advantage and sneaked into the back of the wagon of supplies. Once he situated himself under a pile of Redcoat uniforms, the convoy picked up its pace once again along the snowy dirt road. Haytham was a bit nervous for the mission. He had never done something like this before in his 30 years of life in London. He hoped he wouldn’t get caught. 

A few minutes later, the cart came to a slow halt. 

“What’s in the wagon? I need a full inventory,” he heard one Redcoat speak, presumably a guard. 

The driver responded, “As you wish. Let’s see - 2 barrels of salt, 12 pounds pork, 10 pounds beef, 7 dozen eggs, 16 wheels of cheese - none of it French, don’t worry, 5 bottles of whiskey, a couple dozen new uniforms, boots, and leather for patching. Blankets, too, and a cart of feed for the horses. Wot else… Wot else… That’s it. That’s all there is.” 

“You’re free to pass,” the guard said. 

Once the cart was properly within the fort’s boundaries, Haytham exited through the back and hid in an area of tall grass. He spotted two key targets: George Washington and John Fraser. The two men headed near to where Haytham was, and were talking. 

Fraser asked Washington, “Tell me you’ve good news?” 

“General Braddock refused the offer. There will be no truce.” 

“Damn it! Why, George? What reason did he give?” 

“He said that a diplomatic solution is no solution at all. That allowing the French to retreat would only delay an inevitable conflict, one in which they’d have the upper hand,” George explained to his colleague. Haytham continued to follow the men discreetly as they walked up a staircase. The rest of the conversation was mainly focused on Fraser’s and Washington’s negative opinions on Braddock’s plans. Not much of it was useful - nor interesting - to Haytham, until they started speaking of where Edward and his troops were heading later. 

“Where’s the general now?” Fraser asked Washington. 

“Rallying the troops.” 

“And then it’s onto Fort Duquesne, I presume?” 

George answered his friend, “Eventually. The march north will surely take time. There’s a copy of the plans in the command tent should you wish to review them.” 

Fraser nodded and said, “At least this will be ended soon.” 

“I tried, John.” 

“I know, my friend, I know…” 

Both John Fraser and George Washington had dispersed after their talk about Edward Braddock. Haytham was lucky that they had managed to tell where Braddock was headed in the near future and where the maps were located. _That map would surely be of use. He needed to find it._ Haytham jumped into a nearby hay cart, as a British soldier was currently walking up the staircase. The man entered one of the tents, and Haytham saw that he was sifting through and reading the map. Once he finished, he exited the tent and stood watch outside. Haytham waited to see what the soldier would do next. Reginald had taught him to always spend a couple minutes analyzing his target, seeing their patterns and how they performed things before acting upon them. 

After standing outside the tent for about five minutes, the soldier returned back into the tent. Haytham took his chance, jumped out of the hay cart, and hid in the grass next to the tent. He waited yet again, and the same soldier exited the tent. Once he was on guard again, Haytham quickly covered the man’s mouth and locked his arm around his neck, silencing him and dragging him over to the hay cart. He threw the Redcoat’s body into the hay, took the maps, and then continued down the wooden staircase.

~

Haytham had managed to leave Fort St-Mathieu in one piece, to his surprise. Though upon exit of the fort, he was stopped by some English soldiers, which he managed to take out easily. _He had always thought that their combat training wasn’t the best._ He saw Ziio still crouched behind the bush where they had originally met. 

She saw him coming, and asked, “What news?” 

“Braddock has left to rally his troops,” Haytham answered her, “They’re marching on Fort Duquesne. It’ll be a while yet ‘til they’re ready, which gives us time to form a plan.” 

Ziio took a closer look at the maps that Haytham had looted. 

“No need,” she said, and pointed to an area near the fort, “We will ambush them here, near the river. Go and gather your allies. I will do the same. I will send word when it is time to strike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter for today ^_^


	6. Plan of Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham Kenway, 20 November 1754 - Haytham was confident of his and Ziio’s plan. He had always had a deep hatred for Edward Braddock. Though the general did help him realize the brutality of being a Templar, he left the order for his army. Not only that, he ordered his men to slaughter a family in front of his very eyes. That scene had scarred Haytham for many years. Braddock was a cruel, cruel man that needed to be killed.

#### Ziio; 20 November 1754, Kanatahséton Valley

It had been four days since Ziio and Haytham formed the plan for the assault on General Edward Braddock and his regiment. It took her three days to travel back to the Mohawk Valley from Fort St-Mathieu in Lexington. Today she had planned to tell the tribe about the attack. She knew that her clan had contacts with many other tribes near the area and on the east coast, which would greatly help the cause. Ziio also trusted Haytham to bring his most trusted allies for the mission. 

After having a quick rest, Ziio went to go find the Clan Mother. She exited the longhouse and asked some of the men if they have seen her. After they said no, Ziio continued her search until she found her talking to one of the women. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, she waited until her mother was finished talking with the other woman. 

The woman and the Clan Mother conversed for about five minutes. The woman left, and Ziio decided that it was time to confront her mother. 

“Ista,” she said, and placed her hand on Oiá:ner’s arm. 

The Clan Mother asked, “Yes, Kaniehtí:io, what is it that you need?” 

“I need you to gather all of the villagers. There is something important that must be discussed.” 

“What is it? I must know first before our people do.” 

Ziio was nervous. She remembered that her mother told her strictly not to be near Haytham or any other Englishman in the future. Though she was apprehensive of her mother’s reaction, she knew that everyone in the Native American tribes of the east coast absolutely _**despise**_ and _**hate**_ Edward Braddock. They would do anything for him and the settlers to stay away from their lands. 

“Ista, do you recall that British man I told you about?” 

“Yes. What happened?” Oiá:ner questioned. 

Ziio sighed, “I partially lied to you when I told you that I was going out on a hunt and got lost four days earlier, and I apologize for that.” 

She saw her mother’s face contort to anger, but before she could say anything, Ziio cut in, “But you must listen to me, Ista. When I was hunting, that same man found me. He questioned me and showed me this.” 

She pulled the aqua amulet with the intricate designs out of her furskin coat and handed it to Oiá:ner. The Clan Mother took it from her child’s hand and carefully inspected the jewel. Her face changed from anger to that of curiosity and realization. The ornament bored the exact same designs in the First Civilization Temple. The Clan Mother looked at Ziio and urged her to continue. 

“He didn’t tell me much about the amulet, but later he told me about his same enmity toward The Bulldog. We both managed to get information from The Bulldog’s soldiers and from a map we found at his fort.” Ziio also showed her mother the map that she and Haytham had stolen from Braddock’s camp. 

She pointed to the map, “His men will be marching down this path. We plan to attack near the river, where they are least expected. I have told him to gather his allies and that I would do the same. Ista, if we kill Edward Braddock, then we can set an example on these settlers to not advance onto our land. We have contacts with the many other nearby tribes. I know for a fact that they would like to see him gone as well.” 

Oiá:ner took a moment to look over the map and think about her daughter’s plan. After a while, she finally spoke, “And you trust this man so much as to follow along with his plans? He may trust you, but does he trust our people?” 

Ziio was quick to defend Haytham, “He saved our people from slavery. He saved me from slavery, Ista. This man’s past and his intentions of wanting to kill Braddock may be a mystery, but if he is willing to help us, then I believe we should accept his assistance.” 

Oiá:ner thought it through for a couple minutes. Finally, she came to the conclusion that they should work with Haytham only for the mission, then break ties with him. Though the man saved Ziio, Oiá:ner had a bad feeling about him. 

The Clan Mother gathered everyone together for the meeting. Both Ziio and her mother explained the plan to everyone in thorough detail. Oiá:ner told her daughter to write several letters directed to the other tribes that are willing to help them on the assault. She then told Ziio that in a couple days time, the Kanien’kehá:ka clan’s messengers will send word to the other tribes near the area. 

Once everyone dispersed after the convention, Ziio and her mother both entered their longhouse. It was nighttime, and the two women were getting ready to go to bed. 

Right as Ziio was about to put out the candle, Oiá:ner spoke, “I really hope that this man knows what he is doing. You are for sure he will stick to the plans?” 

“Yes, I am,” Ziio answered her. 

“Okay,” her mother nodded, “but you must listen to me very carefully, Kaniehtí:io.” 

Oiá:ner looked her daughter in the eye, “You must heed my instructions: _Stay away from that man._ I don’t care if the attack goes awry or not, but afterward, you must _stay away from him._ I can’t risk losing you, my beautiful snow.” 

The Clan Mother knew that her daughter was almost an adult. _Almost._ Though she was 23 years of age, she needed much guidance. Especially after being held captive by British soldiers, Oiá:ner didn’t want anything happening to her only daughter. She had already lost her husband and didn’t want to lose her daughter. 

Ziio saw that her mother was genuine. She reassured her by saying, “I understand, Ista. You needn’t worry. We have this under control. Let us get some sleep, we’ve had a very long day discussing plans.” 

Oiá:ner nodded, and Ziio blew out the candle.

  


#### Haytham Kenway; 20 November 1754, Green Dragon Tavern

Haytham was confident of his and Ziio’s plan. He had always had a deep hatred for Edward Braddock. Though the general did help him realize the brutality of being a Templar, he left the order for his army. Not only that, he ordered his men to slaughter a family in front of his very eyes. That scene had scarred Haytham for many years. Braddock was a cruel, cruel man that needed to be killed. 

Haytham left his room and concluded that it was time to tell his men of the assault. It took him five days to get to Boston from Fort St-Mathieu. During his journey back, he had thought of the plan many times in his head, thinking of any possible counters and factors that may affect the attack. 

When he exited, he walked down the stairs into the bar. At the center table, he saw all five of his men sitting at the center table. Thomas was the only one with a drink in his hand while the other men conversed. _Typical Thomas,_ Haytham thought. The men greeted Haytham. They were anticipating seeing him. After Haytham arrived from Braddock’s camp, he told his men that they were going to have a discussion in the evening. 

Charles spoke, “So sir, what’s this discussion about?” 

Haytham sat down next to William. He answered Charles’s question, “Well, I was gone for the past five days because I was finally able to track down our mystery woman, Charles.” 

“What was her name?” 

“Ziio,” Haytham answered, with a tone of longing. _Longing?! He couldn’t yearn for her at this moment! He needed to focus,_ “She shares a common hatred for Edward Braddock, like us. I have concluded that in order to gain the tribe’s trust, we must… _eliminate_ him.” 

The men all nodded in agreement. Haytham and Charles looked at each other, “Her and I intercepted valuable information about Edward Braddock’s whereabouts. You needn’t work under The Bulldog anymore, Charles.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Charles said with much gratitude. 

“Not a problem.” 

Haytham pulled a second copy of the plans from his pocket and showed it to the men, “We plan to attack here at the bank of the Monongahela River. She is currently rallying her allies and we should assault in the later months.” 

The men all agreed to the plan. They needed to gain Ziio and her people’s trust so they could find the Precursor Temple and activate it with the amulet. 

Thomas spoke aloud while waving his tankard, “I guess we got ourselves’ a plan! Now let’s ‘ave a drink ta celebrate!” The men cheered, and for once, Haytham felt at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, and thanks for reading this chapter! More to come! ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, I all of a sudden have inspiration to write again... ^_^


End file.
